


Last Minute

by Xparrot



Category: GetBackers
Genre: M/M, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-16
Updated: 2003-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xparrot/pseuds/Xparrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time and luck run out for the GetBackers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Minute

**Author's Note:**

> No one seems to know exactly how the jagan works, so I've played with my own theories here.
> 
> Don't read if you're not in the mood for tragedy or shounen ai. I was hiding from this particular muse, but my friend made me write it anyway. Then she read it and cried. I'm convinced I'm going to fan hell - the Eighth Circle, reserved for those who do the unforgivable to Ban &amp; Ginji.

The blood was pounding in his ears, but not so loud that Ban couldn't hear the gunshot. And he should have known, they were Yakuza, after all, but he hadn't been thinking, and besides they had gone up against guns before.

He was still too far away. The second shot sounded like the end of the world, thunder a meter from his ears. Then he had slammed his fist into the man's stomach, and usually Ban would have pulled his punch, but he had neither the time nor the inclination. The thug went flying back, smashed into the wall and left a trail of gore on the cement as his body slid down.

Then he caught Ginji as he fell, felt the liquid warmth spreading through his shirt where his partner slumped against him. For all his strength, Ginji was too heavy, and Ban didn't kneel so much as fold, but it wasn't until they were both on the ground that he got a good look at his chest, and knew. When Ginji's eyes opened they were already glazed, clouds over the sun.

In the breeze through the open garage he could taste rain in the air, faint ozone of an approaching storm.

"Ban-chan?"

"We got it," Ban said, though he hadn't checked inside the case.

"I..." There was agony drawn tight around his eyes, but Ginji wouldn't mention that, it never seemed important to him, not when there was so much else that mattered to him more. But he had to feel the blood soaking his vest, more with every beat of his heart. "Good," he said at last.

Ban raised his head, scanned the warehouse, desperately, but the lights were out, Ginji had blown the power before they had entered. A generator, it had worked before, but he couldn't move him like this, and there wasn't time. In the distance he could hear an alarm ringing urgently; the police would be here soon. He was kneeling in the damp, dark stains soaking into his jeans' knees, and that stickiness was too unambiguous to be a dream.

"Ban-chan," and he didn't want to hear it, not like that, not so carefully, because Ginji knew that he wouldn't have many more chances, so every syllable had to have import. "It..hurts..." but he didn't sound hurt, only surprised, even as the pain choked off his words in his throat.

He was no healer, had no gift to make things well, but pain is of the mind, not the body, and of everything in the useless world, this at least Ban could do. He lowered his glasses, cupped his partner's face in his hands—already the sweat was cooling on his skin—and said, "Look at me, Ginji."

And Ginji, trusting as always, raised his eyes to Ban's.

There was always a moment of shock, as he opened his other eyes, a moment before the jagan took hold when the victim met that inhuman stare and was horrified. Forgotten in an instant, too unreal to be recalled, but the split second of revulsion was always there, instinctual fear of the reptilian, serpent and evil wound together in the deepest recesses of the human psyche.

But there was no fear in Ginji's eyes, not a single instant, just faith, and wonder..._sasuga, Ban-chan..._

Paradoxically, the better he knew a person the more difficult the evil eye became, because there was so much more he had to work with, sifting through their memories and his own of them to dominate the dream. And this was hardest of all, for he wasn't merely issuing a hypothetical, not just weaving an illusion from fragments of expectation and perception, but giving choice, making an entire universe, where Ginji's will was absolute, where any dream could come true.

He could do nothing else for him but this, a single minute to deny reality and give him perfection. The more he stretched time, the more he forced into this moment, the more strain it became, but this was all he could do, and this dream would last as long as Ginji wanted. A lifetime, if that was what he wished, the ideal life he should have had, a year of joy between every heartbeat, until that rhythm stopped.

Ban's hand found Ginji's, fingers icy as he squeezed them between his own. But at the same time there was another Ban, in the space between the unconscious and perception. And that Ban was laughing, "You worried me there!" and Ginji was grinning up at him, took his hand and was pulled to his feet. There was no blood, and his hand was warm in that Ban's.

"So we got it?" Ginji asked.

"We got it," Ban answered, grinning. "And there's more there than we were told—a lot more. We're rich!" He was laughing. They were laughing. "We finally did it, Ginji!"

It was clear, it was too clear, every second ticking by too fast. Ban tried to stretch it, push the laughter into memory, make something so ordinary and common have happened already, so there could be better things. But Ginji wanted to hear it, wanted the dream itself and not just the thought of it. Wanted to be able to breathe free and release that open laugh, and Ban let him, even as he listened to the unsteady panting accelerate, then slow, shallower now.

"So what do you want to do now?" Ban asked, and the true Ban's mouth shaped the same question. Anything, anything you want. Go out to eat, any restaurant you've ever dreamed of, any food you've ever craved. On vacation, anywhere, any sight you've ever wanted to see. Any fashion model you've ever drooled over, and she would be so sweet and so gentle. Any toy you ever thought of playing with, any person you ever wanted to meet. Any life you ever wanted. Become a singer, an athlete, a superstar, fame and admiration and praise, or just find the perfect girl and have the perfect family. Whatever makes you happy. Anything, and he would grant it.

"I'm sorry, Ban-chan," Ginji said. His eyes were open, seeing a dream, not Ban's real face, but he spoke the words aloud, faintly. Pink froth bubbled on his lips. "I know...what you're giving, but...I'm sorry."

And in the dream, Ginji, the whole and laughing Ginji, took Ban's face in his hands, tilted his head and brought their mouths together.

And in reality, Ban felt the faintest pressure against his lips, a ghost of perception that warned him he was too close to the dream, too close to falling under the spell of his own illusion.

But Ginji's kiss was warm and wet, so sweet and so gentle, and he didn't know what he was doing but it didn't matter. Playful, as he always was, eager, as he was with everything, tongue swirling experimentally against Ban's. Their arms were around each other, Ginji's hand running down his back, like so many times before but this was different, as different as his own caress. Ginji's fingers on his cheek were like fire, tingling like a static shock, and maybe he was glowing with more than just emotion.

He lost control, lost himself, and then the minute was up, and the dream shattered into a thousand lost promises. The hand in his was limp and clammy, but Ginji was looking at him, the real Ban.

"Sorry, Ban-chan," he said again.

"Why?" Ban whispered, kneeling over him, and he didn't even notice the stains on his jeans and shirt and face. "Anything, I would've given you anything at all..."

"It's enough," Ginji said. "Thanks, Ban-chan...I had a good dream."

He lifted his hand, reaching to Ban's face, but his arm fell before his fingers touched his cheek. And then his eyes were closed and his head rocked back and when his breath caught it didn't start again.

Ban spoke his name a few times, not because he had any hope, but because he wouldn't be able to again, and he hadn't said it anywhere near as often as he had wanted. Infinity, or more. Only in his dreams.

His lips were cold when Ban brushed his over them.

Outside, a chill rain had begun to fall.

Inside, it would never stop.


End file.
